And The Darkness Surrounds
by DeadlyMindsetDarkSkylet
Summary: When a stranger on the street hands Patrick a mysterious briefcase en route to Pete's house he doesn't expect the trouble to come with it. He'd given up his hunter life years ago, when vampires were wiped out...But who is the fellow in the Dandy-like white clothes? And why is Courtney Love trying to kill them? And Patrick certainly didn't expect to lose his hand...
1. Fall to Your Knees, Bring On the Rapture

Patrick opened the briefcase. The object inside was practically glowing. It had been carved into the shape of a very strange half-man, half-dog thing with large vampire-like fangs. It was old, it was vampiric, and it was made of pure _gold_. Next to him, Pete ran hands through his hair, caught between wonder and excitement. Joe's eyes lit up, and Andy looked unsure, yet giddy. Patrick himself wasn't sure whether this was wrong or not.

"So…" he started. Technically the briefcase was given to him, that meant _he_ didn't steal it, even if it _was_ stolen. Andy was the first to speak against it, confirming Patrick's doubts.

"Is this even right to have? It belonged to somebody, maybe a museum, it's _old._ " Pete was the next to speak, though he was clearly enchanted by the object.

"How'd you even get this?" he said, exasperated. Joe didn't even say anything, amazed just being around so much value.

"Do you know how many people we could help with this?" Patrick asked.

"A whole lot." Joe muttered.

"It clearly has something to do with…y'know…" Pete hesitated. He still hadn't exactly made peace with himself, wasn't comfortable saying it out loud, never had been. Patrick thought about that while he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, given to him by the mysterious man on the street last night.

"What're those for?" Andy asked, confused. Patrick shrugged, though for some reason he was nervous…

"The guy who gave it to me said it would be safer if I kept it close, and then he gave me these." Without hesitation he locked the one cuff firmly on his wrist and the other on the handle of the briefcase. Everyone's eyes looked to Patrick in confusion, and he shrugged awkwardly again. He didn't really get it, but he knew he needed to protect it. There was something going on that he could feel in his gut. Something that was going to go wrong. He shook out his shoulders and forced himself to relax. He was just paranoid. They could help so many people with this. Pull people out of poverty, feed people. Give them homes and water. They could rebuild houses devastated by natural events. They did what they could, being musicians, but they weren't that big of celebrities, and they had just gotten back from the break last year. "So, I'm gonna head home, I'm kinda tired. We'll meet up again later, yeah? Find out how much this is worth and what we're gonna do with it." Pete met his eyes with worry. He reached out and hugged him.

"Be careful," he whispered in his ear. "Something feels off." Patrick knew that with that feeling only came trouble, but he shrugged for the third time.

"I will," he promised.

"I'm going to head home too," Joe said, yawning. "We've all been up since ass o'clock, I'm beat." Andy agreed, and they dispersed. They all drove off, except Pete, whose house they were currently in, and Patrick who had thought walking to Pete's house had been a great idea ~ It hadn't. That's where he had met that strange man passing by an alleyway, and where he had been given the briefcase and handcuffs.

"You're walking?" Pete asked him, and Patrick couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Yes, Mom," he snarked, "I'm walking." Pete gave him a glare, and Patrick laughed, feeling a little bit of the tension leave his shoulders.

"I'm serious though, 'Trick, be careful." Pete said, face serious again. Patrick nodded.

"I'll be fine, no one even knows I have this." Pete looked unsure. The nagging feeling in Patrick's gut grew, but he said nothing. Instead he walked out the door, and began walking down the street. It was a nice neighborhood, one Patrick had walked many times, but paranoia was getting the best of him, and he walked fast, gripping the briefcase tightly, and looking behind him every few minutes. Eventually he managed to calm from his overworked state, and even smiled at a kid riding a bike. Normal day. No one even cared that he had a briefcase, never mind what was in it. The kid even smiled back. Normal day.

Patrick started when he felt something latch onto his neck, attempting to turn around, before shocks of electricity stabbed through him. The pain was instant and horrible, but short. _A taser…?_ He passed out rather quickly, barely feeling the grass under his cheek as he was dragged away.


	2. Just One Yesterday

Patrick woke up to the sound of dripping water. His butt was sore, his wrists were burning, his neck was throbbing, and his head was pounding. On top of that; It took his fogged mind a few moments to realize he was sitting upright in a chair. Without sight he was vulnerable, and he tried to move his hands to the fabric placed over his head. It was getting hard to breathe, and he wanted it off. He was met with resistance, and spikes of pain shot up his arm as ropes scraped against his wrists. The flesh felt raw. Fear started to work through him, making him fully alert. The throbbing in his neck became less of a nuisance and more of slight pain. He struggled against the ropes tying him down to a chair, but nothing happened except more pain. He could feel blood rising just below the delicate skin, ready to break open. He stopped struggling, trying to calm himself. Memories started to go through his mind as he became more aware.

 _Burning at his throat…a taser? That creepy kid on the bike… The suitcase…The suitcase!_ Realization dawned on him fast, but he felt the heaviness of something hanging off his wrist, and relief barely had time to flood through him before the bag was ripped from his head.

He blinked as light assaulted his eyes, and he looked down at himself. Ropes wrapped around his belly, binding it to the back of the chair. They also bound his ankles to the legs of the chair, and one wrist to the chair. One arm was outstretched and the wrist attached to the suitcase was tied down to a small side table. Next he looked around for his kidnapper. Out of his thoughts he heard the click of heels, and a woman spoke.

"Good you're awake," she said from behind him. Her voice was cold, and Patrick jumped. He'd always hated people sneaking up on him. He looked around, and his eyes found another woman, dark skinned and dark haired, slender, and fit. The rest of her features were lost on him. His glasses were gone, and if he thought about it, so was his hat.

"Who are you?" he asked her. He almost asked her where his hat was, but he thought better of it. Bound to a chair was not the safest place to be talking about fedoras. There was still that woman behind him and it made him nervous. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he jumped again. Her laugh rang in his ears. It was a cold laugh, dark and chilling; but there was something familiar about it…What was it? He looked behind him again trying to get a good look at her. The ropes didn't provide much give, but he managed to get a glimpse of curly blonde hair. He turned back to look at the other woman, not wanting to take his eyes off her.

"You have something we want Patrick," she said. Patrick went still.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, chest tight. He hoped he didn't have an asthma attack— That would make this suck so much more.

"We know everything about you," she smiled down at him.

"What do you want from me?" but he knew. The suitcase. They wanted the suitcase. He thought it was a great idea to handcuff it to himself, the guys agreed with him, just because they knew nothing would happen. He would get to his house, they would sleep on it, and figure it out from there. But something did happen. He got _tasered_ and _tied to a fucking chair_. Who were they to think they could be invincible? Of course somebody was going to be after it. Of course somebody was willing to kidnap for it…ready to kill for it. He was finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden, fear coiled so tight in his chest he was waiting to explode.

"You know," she smiled knowingly, and Patrick thought he was going to be sick. He was a terrible liar when he wasn't shaking in fear, how was he supposed to keep his cool now? Instead he tried to find out more — not that he really _wanted_ to know. What he really _wanted_ was to be home in bed sleeping, without ever having known the suitcase existed. Damn their curiosity, and damn their greed —.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, voice only shaking slightly, but he kept a demanding tone. The one in back laughed again, and he jumped…again. He'd almost forgotten she was there…but once again, there was something familiar about that laugh. What was it? Ideas were starting to form in his head. _Blonde hair, that laugh—_ But his mind immediately rejected it. _Of course it's not her, that's insane…_

The darker one brought his attention back to her. A large drill was in her hands, and his heart pounded faster, harder. What the hell was she doing with that? Dread washed over him as she grabbed his chin, and forced his mouth open. He struggled, moving his head to the side, but she held fast.

"Sierra!" the one from behind him snapped, and a memory popped into his head.

 _"Pete!" a voice said sternly. Pete turned with a guilty look on his face. The voice laughed, warm, playful. Pete had been trying to eat one of the cookies before dinner._ Patrick's head spun. It couldn't be her… "Not too early." she said, voice as stern as it was weeks ago, in Pete's house. Finally she stepped in front of him.

"…Jessica?" Patrick felt like wind had been knocked out of him. "This really isn't funny," was all he could manage in his shocked state. His mind was in denial, this didn't seem like a joke, but… "Seriously, Jessica, untie me so we can go home."

"Go home? I don't think you understand what's happening here, Patrick." Sierra laughed at Jessica's words.

"Jessica, does it look like I find this funny? Just untie me!" Patrick was unsure now. But this had to be a joke…right? Jessica leaned into his face, curly hair tickling his skin. He refused to shrink back, refused to be afraid of a woman he had known happily for almost a year. Her face was dead serious, and there was a cold look to it that he had never seen in her before. She struck him across the face, stunning him into silence. Shock settled in his bones, chilling him. Pete's girlfriend for ten months had kidnapped him…why? Confusion and uncertainty swirled inside him. Why did she kidnap him? Why did she want the suitcase? How did she even know about the suitcase? She had been practically part of the band for so long, she was one of them. "I don't—" he started, uncertain of his situation, unable to process. She slapped him again, harder, making his head snap to the side.

"Shut up, 'Trick," and her voice was soft, like it was before, kind and pitying, his nickname said with so much affection. He felt like he just got whiplash from the change.

"Can we start now?" Sierra asked, irritated. Something clicked in Patrick's head. They were trying to get the suitcase off.

"Look, if you just want the suitcase, let me go and I'll get the key, you can take it, I don't care anymore." He really didn't understand why they went through all this. A drill? Had she been trying to scare him earlier? They could cut the chain, even. Jessica laughed again, cold and foreign from someone so kind.

"Just want the suitcase? Oh no," Sierra caressed his cheek, and he flinched away. "it's so much more than that, Kitten." A chill went through him as she lifted the drill again.

"W-wait!" he cried, turning his head away from her, looking to Jessica for help.

"Go ahead," she droned, staring Patrick in the eyes. Hurt shined in them and she only smiled sweetly back, amused at the display. Sierra grabbed his chin again, exposing his teeth. He fought her, thrashing from side to side, but her hands were steady as the drill neared his mouth. It looked dirty and dangerous, and Patrick's heart pounded in his ears. The drill turned on with a loud sputter, and Patrick couldn't breathe. _I wonder how many infections I'm going to get,_ he couldn't help but think, and he felt nauseous.

The drill gently touched one of his teeth, and he closed his eyes tightly. He couldn't look at the woman while she did this to him. At first he felt nothing, but the sound of teeth grinding into nothing made his nausea worse. Then the pain hit. He felt small pieces of teeth and blood and tissue bouncing around on his tongue, and his jaw tensed as he cried out. The pain was almost blinding, as she drilled against what was left of the tissue and raw nerve endings. He'd been to the dentist, but this was different. She might not stop when she hit his gums. She was going to mess his mouth up, maybe he wouldn't be able to eat, or drink anything. Maybe he wouldn't be able to talk…or _sing_. The taste made him gag, and the sound of the drill hurt his ears. Finally, after what felt like years, she pulled back, turning the drill off.

Patrick was panting, the slightest bit of blood dribbled from his mouth. When the pain had dulled to a throb, he decided to explore what she had done. He spit the blood and pieces of tooth from his mouth, which made the pain flare up. He groaned, but poked his tongue around the top right molar. He groaned again, immediately stopping. It seemed to him like she had hit every nerve ending in his tooth. He took a breath through his nose. He could handle it. It could have been worse.

Sierra dropped the drill and the loud _thunk_ made him flinch. She picked something off the floor, it was blurry, but Patrick could see it was metal. She brought it closer, he didn't know what it was, but it was sharp. She touched it to his neck, and he cringed back as far as the ropes would allow, trying to avoid it. She laughed and dropped it on the ground. Patrick didn't have time to breathe in before Jessica forced a gag in his mouth, pulling his head backwards. He choked, eyes wide at the sudden intrusion. _When had she gone back there?_ He tried to spit it out, but she pulled tighter, making his head tip back, and making it hard to breathe. Electricity crackled in his ears, and he felt heat on his belly. Fear curled under his chest. _Torture._ It was the first time he realized what it was. He yelped as electricity snapped on his side, his muscles spasming around it. He looked down at the woman. Up close she was gorgeous, smooth features, dark amber eyes, deadly expression. He would never have a femme fatale fantasy again. In her hand was not the taser previously used to knock him unconscious, but a rather large, rather illegal looking cattle prod. He yelled behind the gag, jerking backwards. He felt Jessica's breath on his neck, as she tightened the black cloth.

"You're gonna want to bite on this." she laughed in his ear. "We may have tinkered with it to give it more of a…flare." she added. Would he even be able to survive that? He's never even been zapped by regular cattle prod, but this? Panic was drowning him, pulling him beneath it's murky depths. They wouldn't actually do that would they? Torture isn't legal.

Sierra just barely caressed his face with the top, not enough to shock him, and he shivered, shaking his head against impending doom. Jessica was laughing in his ear, and the hum of electricity made his insides squirm. The prod was so close to him he could feel the heat coming off of it. He was shaking when metal finally met the cloth of his shirt. A scream pierced the air as electricity sent shocks through his system. Pain radiated through his body and every muscle was tense. Sierra finally moved the prod from his body, and Patrick sagged in the chair. Sweat was pouring off of him, and his throat hurt from the screaming, while the rest of his body hummed unpleasantly. The gag fell from his mouth.

"This isn't legal." Was the only thing he managed to say, still panting. Sierra and Jessica laughed at him, smug looks on their faces.

"Does it look like we care?" Jessica sneered, moving in front of him with another cattle prod in her hand. She pressed it to him, watching in delight as he twitched and screamed. Tears streamed from his eyes as he sat limp, when she finally pulled away. _Why?_ Why was she doing this to him? Why not Pete? _It was his girlfriend._ Sickness washed over him. Of course he didn't want this to happen to Pete. (Not that Pete couldn't handle it…better.) He didn't want this to happen to anyone. He hated that the thought had ever crossed his mind. He managed to get his body under control after a few minutes, and relaxed slightly when they stuffed the prods back into a bag. He hoped they'd at least leave him to heal for the night, prayed they'd go away and leave him to his thoughts, but instead Jessica pulled out knives.

Fucking meat cleavers.

Confusion and dread filtered through any remaining thoughts about hope Patrick was having. Another girl stepped into the room, and Patrick wanted to run. He struggled against the ropes a little more, as she took the knives from Jessica, sharpening one against the other. He shivered at the sound of metal scraping against metal, stilling in panic. Jessica and the other girl moved behind him and held his shoulders down, Jessica wrapping an arm around his chest to keep him steady. His mind blanked. What was happening? Patrick's heart pounded hard and fast in his chest, processing faster than his mind could. The woman grabbed his left arm, the suitcase dangled painfully heavy from his wrist, the handcuff starting to cut into his skin. His heart seemed to stop so fast his chest ached. Fear was building in his chest, so different from the initial panic. It was colder, darker, worse. It made his mind buzz, and his skin tingle. Every cell in his body was telling him to run. The ropes held him down as he struggled. _No,_ he thought, desperately, but he couldn't speak, dumb with fear. _Nonononono~_ He struggled harder, pulling frantically at the ropes that bit into his skin, but they wouldn't budge. He pulled relentlessly, trying to get free. The woman brought the knife up above his wrist. They still wouldn't move. Sweat was sliding down his temple, his pulse roaring in his ears.Another pull. Patrick couldn't breathe. The ropes still wouldn't fucking move. _Nonononononono~_ His lungs wouldn't suck in air. He looked away, eyes closed tightly, body tense. He was going to lose his hand. He couldn't loud thump of the knife against the wood seemed to pound in his ears.

The pain was immediate and intense. He couldn't breath. There was a scream in his lungs, and it took all the air from him. He leaned forward, sick. _Get off me!_ he thought desperately as Jessica laughed inches from his ear, and Sierra held him back. But he couldn't speak. He could _hear_ the blood dripping from him and onto the floor. Tears were running down his face, eyes wide open in shock. He had grown quiet, mouth open in a silent scream. The pain was too much. When he came back to himself he could hear them. They were in front of him. He hadn't even noticed them let go of him.

"Awww, the poor baby, crying because he's upset." Jessica sneered at him, close to his face. Patrick felt his cheeks go red, but the tears wouldn't stop. The pain was too much. He dared peak at his wrist. It looked so much worse than he thought it would.

Blood was everywhere, on his skin, on his sleeve, on the wood of the table. Bone, muscle, sinew, all visible under the the blood still slowly oozing from the sickening wound. Patrick felt his stomach jump into his throat as he leaned over and threw up all over the floor. Some of it splashed back onto the chair and onto Jessica's high heels. Jessica's face contorted in disgust. When he was finished, panting, trying really hard to keep his gaze from his wrist, she slapped him hard. If he had been standing, he would've landed on the ground. That was all it took for him to pass out.


End file.
